


you have come and gone (now you're just a number on my telephone)

by bellawritess



Series: when the light hits the room [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Friendship, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Break Up, Songfic, but the series does, i promise if u stick with it.....happy ending, mostly referenced, so THIS installment does not have a happy ending, so i feel like. it balances out, this is the really sad one sorry everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27553495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: i could call you up, but it's too late.Fumbling for his phone, Michael opens his eyes and stares at the screen, at the contact pulled up. It has Ashton’s full name, his birthday, even his address. This is the first time Michael’s looked at it since Ashton left, and only now does he realize that there’s something in the “notes” section, though Michael can’t remember ever having written notes for any contact.Head over heels for Michael Clifford,it reads.
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Calum Hood (background), Michael Clifford & Calum Hood, Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin (past)
Series: when the light hits the room [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014027
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	you have come and gone (now you're just a number on my telephone)

**Author's Note:**

> so here's part two :) this one is based on valium, and naturally the title is from there. angst ahead friends i am so sorry
> 
> thank you again to the wonderful [sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellingatbabylon) for aforementioned being an enthusiastic vetter of my fic. i say vet as if i wouldn't have posted it anyway but it means the world to me to have you reading all the bullshit i come up with my love <3 i love you and your comments and just!! yeah i love you
> 
> tw for alcohol on this one as well, mostly referenced none in the actual fic itself

The _delete_ button is right there.

It’s taunting Michael. He’s split down the middle. Half of him is screaming to _do it,_ _delete the number, get him out of your life, stop thinking about him and move on_ , but the winning half is countering with a collected calm: _you’ll never delete it. You love him too much._

Michael fucking hates that he knows the latter side is right. He’ll never delete Ashton’s number. It’s a nice fantasy, that he could ever gather the strength to do it, but he won’t.

Sighing heavily, he drops his phone onto the duvet, which is gathered up in his lap, and lets his head fall into his hands. He’s a little drunk — another attempt to convince himself that he could get over Ashton, or maybe a desperate grasp for liquid courage or whatever it was he thought he’d need to hit _delete_ , obviously ineffective — so he closes his eyes, trying to minimize the senses taking in data. The room is swaying a little bit anyway, or maybe that’s just him, and he needs it to be quieter, but also so much louder.

It’s raining. How long has it been raining? From the noise slowly filling Michael’s ears, it’s pouring, hard raindrops crashing against the window. The sound of the rain is nice. It’s like insulation. Michael can almost pretend that being alone in his flat at four in the morning is all he’s ever known, that nobody has ever come and gone through this place, no footsteps other than his own, nobody else’s favorite breakfast cereals or band t-shirts or shy smiles. 

It’s a lie. Of course. Ashton’s left his trace over every fucking thing in every room, from the bedsheets to the dining table to the drawer of assorted random shit in the kitchen labelled on a piece of masking tape with _RANDOM SHIT_ in Ashton’s handwriting. He’s everywhere, _everywhere_ ; Michael can’t take a step without thinking of him. And maybe it’s just that he’s a little drunk (okay, more drunk than he’s let on), but suddenly that’s the worst thing in the world.

Fumbling for his phone, Michael opens his eyes and stares at the screen, at the contact pulled up. It has Ashton’s full name, his birthday, even his address. This is the first time Michael’s looked at it since Ashton left, and only now does he realize that there’s something in the “notes” section, though Michael can’t remember ever having written notes for any contact.

 _Head over heels for Michael Clifford,_ it reads.

A sob forces its way out of Michael’s closed throat, then another, building until Michael shoulders are shaking violently from the force with which he’s crying. His phone drops out of his shaking hands onto the blanket. He tries to breathe and fails, buries his face into his hands like it’ll stop the tears, which it doesn’t. There’s something he’s supposed to do when this hits but it’s slipping his mind at the moment. _Head over heels,_ the note says, and Michael can hear Ashton’s voice on date night, elbows on the table, leaning forward with a big, happy grin, a broken promise between his teeth, _head over heels_ , Michael shaking his head because _nobody says head over heels anymore, you idiot,_ and Ashton’s grin growing, saying, _that’s because they’ve never been head over heels for you._ It’s stupid and cheesy and sometime between then and now Ashton must have stolen into Michael’s contacts and added that, and now Michael can’t stop hearing Ashton’s voice, and everything hurts so, so much. 

_Not head over heels anymore, are you?_ Michael thinks, trying to think it with bitterness, trying to move past denial into anger, but he’s glued to the spot and every vitriolic thought is punctuated with _I’m lying, I’m lying, please come back, please just tell me you’re head over heels again, I won’t laugh this time, I promise._

For too long he cries himself dry, gasping for breath in the too-quiet of his too-empty bedroom, alone in a too-big bed. It’s exhausting to feel this much, this bad; fallen tears keep getting replaced with hot new ones and Michael is _tired_ , he’s fucking tired, and he misses Ashton so fucking much it can’t ever be put into words, and he would kill to feel nothing for an hour. Just an hour, just one hour of nothing.

(But he’s tried and tried and all it does is make him miss Ashton more. He’d tried sleeping with strangers and all he’d gotten was regret and a new friend. He’d tried to drink himself into oblivion but all he’d gotten was a headache. Nothing makes him feel nothing, and everything hurts all the time, and it’s unfair, is what it is.)

Now he remembers what it is he’s supposed to do. He picks up his phone for a third time and almost manages, this time, to convince himself to hit _delete_ , finger hovering over the red button, but instead he just closes out of the app. Through blurry vision he clicks until he’s at his favorited phone numbers, and swiftly calls.

It’s four in the morning, he belatedly realizes. Actually almost four-thirty. But after only four rings, during which Michael swallows air like his life fucking depends on it, a groggy voice on the other end says: “Michael?”

Michael closes his eyes, tipping his head back so the tears that streak down his cheeks trace a path along his neck. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Calum says in a hushed, scratchy voice. He’s obviously just woken up. “It’s four-thirty.”

“I know,” Michael says, tone wobbling despite his best efforts to keep it flat. But fuck it — it’s not like he’s going to lie. There’s a reason he’d called Calum. “I’m — I just, I feel like such a fucking idiot, but I can’t stop, like, fucking crying about —” Before Michael can finish he’s overcome with another wave of tears, like saying the name itself is too much for him, and maybe it is. Michael’s not sure; he hasn’t tried, not since Ashton left. Thinking it is bad enough; saying it makes it real, that it’s the name of a person to whom Michael doesn’t belong anymore.

“Oh,” Calum says softly. “I’m gonna come over, okay?”

Michael nods pathetically. “Okay.”

“Give me two minutes,” Calum says. Michael can already here the rustling and murmured words of someone else in the background — that’ll be Luke, wondering who the fuck is waking Calum at four in the morning, or, more likely, asking when Calum will be back.

(It’s twice-weekly at this point, but that’s better than Calum temporarily moving in, like he’d done for the first week, the worst week.)

Two minutes later Calum is standing in Michael’s bedroom doorway. When he sees Michael his whole demeanor changes. “Mikey, love,” he says gently. He’s by Michael’s side, climbing onto Michael’s bed before Michael can even say anything. “Okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Michael shrinks into Calum’s arms, and Calum kisses the top of his head. It’s so familiar here. Michael’s spent so much time in Calum’s arms it’s as easy as breathing to return to them, so for a minute he just inhales and exhales and tries not to think about anything at all except for the smell of Calum’s (formerly Luke’s) shirt and the sturdy feeling of Calum’s arms around him. It could be worse. He could be going through the worst breakup of his life _without_ a best friend.

“It’s okay, Mikey, you’re okay,” Calum whispers, lying. Michael screws his eyes tightly shut. Unbidden, the thought creeps into his mind, that this is what Ashton used to do. He chokes on a half-hearted sob. Ashton’s arms hadn’t had the history that Calum’s do, but his had been so fucking comforting, so full of love, infused with affection, with the sweetness of Ashton loving Michael, something that always helped to know when Michael was needing it. Closing his eyes, he tries to imagine that Calum is Ashton, that this is that, but it isn’t, and it’s too different, and anyway if Calum were Ashton then Michael wouldn’t have anything to cry about, would he? The only person who can really make Michael feel better about Ashton leaving is Ashton. What a cruel fucking joke.

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers into Calum’s chest. “I hate this I hate this I hate this.” Calum strokes his hair. “I hate this so much. I wish I — I wish —” But there’s nothing he can say, nothing that would truly encompass all that he wishes. He doesn’t dare say what he really wishes. _I wish this hadn’t happened. I wish he loved me still. I wish he hadn’t left._ Michael’s a believer in jinxing things, and he’s too desperate to give up just yet.

Calum says, “I know,” like Michael doesn’t even need to say it. For that, Michael’s grateful. Something Calum and Ashton had always had in common: a knack for understanding the things Michael didn’t say as much as the things he did. “I know, Mike. It sucks.”

“Yeah.” Michael sniffs. He squeezes his eyes shut and the last of his tears drip down his face. “I was trying — I wanted to — fuck, I sound so fucking stupid.”  
“You don’t sound stupid,” Calum murmurs. “You don’t.”

Michael knows he does, but it’s just Calum here, and Calum’s seen Michael lower than this. “I was going to delete his number,” he says lamely, “but I couldn’t. I tried and I couldn’t.”

Calum rubs Michael’s arm reassuringly. It doesn’t help a lot, but it feels nice anyway. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No.” He’s too quick with it, and Calum’s hand falters like he can tell. “No. I don’t _want_ to delete it.”

“Michael…”

“Please,” Michael says tiredly. “I know, but I just — I’m not ready. I didn’t call him or anything. Even though I’m drunk.” _Even though he asked me to, even though he said “call me back” and I never did and I never can and it’s all I’ve wanted to do since getting the voicemail notification, since coming home to find all his things gone._ Michael’s never going to call, but he can’t get rid of Ashton’s number yet. He likes to pretend that one day he will. (Or maybe he’s afraid that Ashton is going to call again, and Michael won’t recognize the number.)

“You’re drunk?”

“A little.” Michael sighs heavily. All the crying has gone from him, and it’s left him more weary than ever. “He put something in the notes. Of his contact. I didn’t — I never saw it until now.”

Calum rests his head against Michael’s. “Can I see?”

Michael closes his eyes for a moment. “Yeah.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to Calum. There’s a moment of nothing as Calum finds the contact, and then, quietly: “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Michael says weakly. He swallows and tries for a humorless laugh. “Remnant of what once was, right?”

“God,” Calum says, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

And there’s really nothing Michael can say except, “Me too.” He sits in the comfort of Calum for another couple of minutes. Calum doesn’t say anything, and Michael’s glad, because he’s just run out of energy for talking. Somehow Calum can always tell. They breathe in sync for a few moments.

“You think I’m ever gonna love anyone again?” he finally asks, too tired and drunk to bother keeping it to himself.

Calum gently rubs Michael’s shoulder. “Yeah. I do.”

Michael breathes out. “I don’t. But I don’t really want to.” It would feel like cheating, he knows. Even trying to get over Ashton feels unfair. The promises he’d made to Ashton still ring as true as the day he’d made them, and just because Ashton has left doesn’t mean he’s taken Michael’s words with him. “Who said that thing? Better to have loved and lost then to never love at all?”

Calum is silent for a beat. “Maybe, but…isn’t it better to love and be loved in return? Better than both of those?”

Michael shakes his head. “But I’m never gonna love more than I love him, Calum. It wouldn’t be fair to find someone else, because he’s the best I’ll ever have. The best I ever had. Fuck.” He scrubs a hand over his face, messily wiping at the drying tears. “This sucks so fucking much.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, probably the only part of what Michael’s said that he agrees with. He has the decency not to say so, though, which is nice of him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. Whoever said it was right.” At least, Michael thinks so. He’d loved Ashton so wholly, had given his entire self to it just like with everything he loves, but for the feeling of being loved by Ashton, however long it had lasted, Michael would take a thousand heartbreaks. “You’re here. That’s more than I can — I love you.”

“I love you too,” Calum mumbles, squeezing Michael’s shoulder. “I wish…you know.”

“Yeah.” They both wish, wish and wish, but it’s in vain. Wishing is for children, but they wish anyway. “You don’t have to stay. I know Luke’s waiting for you.”

“Luke’s an adult. He can go a night without me.” He’d gone several in a row, that first week, but if Calum is offering to stay over, Michael’s not going to argue. He’ll have to get Luke some kind of gift, something to say _thank you for letting me steal your boyfriend so many times_. Flowers, or chocolates, or maybe just a healed heart for himself so that Calum stops needing to come over.

(Realistically, it’ll be the flowers or the chocolates. Michael doesn’t see a healed heart in his future, near or far.)

“Thank you,” Michael says. Calum nods.

“Of course,” he says. “Thank you for calling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. You know I’d rather be here than not know.”

Michael sighs. “Yeah. I know.” He does know, but it’s still hard not to feel guilty. “Okay. I’m tired. Sleep time.”

“Sleep time,” Calum agrees, but for a moment they don’t move. Michael takes a deep, deep breath, trying to memorize the action for the next time he struggles with it (inhale, don’t think about Ashton, hold, don’t think about Ashton, exhale, don’t think about Ashton, repeat). 

Soon they manage to move from twisted sitting position to lying down in Michael’s bed, under the covers. Sleep pulls at Michael almost immediately, and he lets it drag him out of consciousness. His dreams are usually filled with facsimiles of Ashton, but at this point, Michael will take anything at all.

( _Head over heels,_ Ashton tells him in his dream — this one a memory, so by extension probably a lie — and Michael can’t stop smiling when he hears it, so when he wakes up, smiling, with someone’s arms around him, he almost, almost forgets.

Almost.)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for joining me here i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) if you wanna say hey :) love youuuu bye (or onto the next i suppose!!)


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